Sienna lifted her fingers from the chipped ivory keys. She looked down at her shaking hands, bearing the burden of her secret's secrets. Her melodies, that had once been so gentle and pure, like the fresh snow, were now heavy and made the heart ache. In her small room of few objects and many walls, she swayed to the throb of her own song. Bubbling to the surface was years of realization, guilt, fear. The demons drifted out from her soul and wrapped around anything they came into contact with. Even her writings withered at her touch. There was not a single laugh nor careless giggle left inside her being. She had been hallowed out by the pain of many lifetimes.
Sienna's piano, her one last hope, melted away into another memory as the room faded into the foreground. She fell all the way through the back of the world, where no one would dare search for her. At this distance, she could still hear her sad lullabies weaving through a network of buzzing ideas.
The alone was eerily perfect. She forgot to hold back her tears and fears. They fumbled out of her mind in a mess, and from some other world she saw her figure collapse into a pitiful heap.
Life was in her hands, like the seed of a rose, which she could choose to nurse to a towering beauty that would only prick her to tears in the end. Or she should crush it into a dust, and let it rejoin the free-blowing wind.
Instead, Sienna idly let her hands drift along the sad notes, which so screamed for freedom of the boundaries of her mind. For eternity she was caged into this loop of events, this mindset. But if she only pleased, it would be too easy to let go and slip past where one can ever return...

Who said its a box?

Honors English class; period four. Ms. Smith comes to the middle of the room with a big smile and plops down an old cardboard box and says: Write.

            If you listened hard enough, you could hear the music box sing. Though harsh a melody the song was, it wove a story that put the restless orphans to sleep every night. Like them, the song was a breathing story, chocking on sobs and dribbling out laughter. There was no crank to begin the music. The box gave birth to its song when a feeling of sadness reached its tattered edges. Every note stretched up and out, grasping around blankets of sorrow from each child, and making it vanish, as if by magic. Then they could smile on their own, and be as light as the wind itself.

When the room was empty, the music box hummed slightly all by its lonesome, remembering its own sad tales. Sometimes a happy child would walk by and only see an ugly antique, and hear only a slight droning beep. They might kick the box in annoyance. Of course it would never lash out in return, because it understood. And if that same little boy with dirty hair and scraggly clothes were to come by again, this time with his heart in two, he would sit with his feet on the gray and cold concrete floor, and with his knees pulled up to his barely beating heart. He would listen to the song played from the wooden cube with intricate carvings and highlights of dust.

            Sometimes the children, or even the caretakers, wondered where the little thing came from. Truth be told, the thing had no maker, no beginning, no middle nor no end. It, and its magic, simply was. And to brothers and sisters and those who were absolutely alone, that music box was what made the echoing hallways of the orphanage a place full of color and life, a place to call home.

Twelve Goodbyes

“Looks like we’re all leaving you today,” he said with a smile.

            I looked up and smiled back at him. I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders.

            “Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything, okay?”

            I’m not that sick. I can take care of myself. I rolled my eyes and nodded.

            His smile faltered for a second. He walked over and kissed the top of my head swiftly. Then he walked away, brushing off his sleeves.

            Today is May twenty first. It’s a Saturday. I am home alone because my parents are workaholics. I am slowly dying from the inside out. But that isn’t terribly important. What is important is that I have some confessions to make, and this time they will be heard.

            I waited for the garage to close. And I watched his car roll away in the reflection of the television. He didn’t pause to wave goodbye at the end of the driveway.

            I stood up and wobbled a little bit. The floor sunk away and I felt pressure building against my skull. Breathe, I told myself, because sometimes I forget that’s a human function.

            The house is empty. I am alone… almost.

            I slowly inched towards the stairs that led to the basement. It was only a half staircase, not to difficult to jump.

            “Is taking the easy way out such a crime?” a thick and creamy voice said from behind me. She had a slight lisp.

            I ignored her.

            “When are you going to name me? I think I deserve a name. And I really don’t want yours anymore. As much as you hate to have your limelight stolen, I am my own person, not a piece of you.”

            I dug my disintegrating nails into my palms. She’s not a person. People can’t do the things she does.

            “Do you want a hand getting down? You look a little stuck.” She reached out to me, to hold my arm.

            I jumped before her flawless skin could make contact. Air wound around me, spinning and healing my wounds. Then I landed. My legs gave out and buckled under me. No noise came out of me, not a cry or a whimper or a whine. I lay there, basking in pain.

            She walked over and stood above me. Her wide brown eyes searched uselessly through my own dull lifeless eyes. “Why won’t you let me help you?” Her voice cracked. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought she was on the brink of tears.

             I can take care of myself, I thought. I stood up and found that ignoring the pain was easy when it was everywhere at once.

            My mom used to be an artist. After my original father left her, all she would do was cry and cry. She burned all her paintings. She’s been remarried four times since then. She makes me call each man “dad” because it makes her feel less abandoned. We like to pretend they really are my dad. The truth is that no one could ever replace my dad.

            Though her personal work is gone, the art room stayed. It’s the perfect hiding place for dad’s letters, each with the return address of a new base camp every two months.

            The back wall was splattered with shades of green and blue paint, the left wall orange to red, and the right wall with purples and magentas. The fourth wall was a mural. It was one hundred and thirteen sea shells. Each one had the figure of a new born baby in it. One in particular shone the brightest, with silver wisps of light emanating from it. That one is supposed to be me; it’s the only one with her eyes open. Bright blue eyes, full of life and love and hope. The mural was drawn two weeks after I was born.

            The floors were dark brown wood, with scratches and stains all over them. Dust covered everything from the half empty tubes of dried paint to the crumpled papers with fading ink. I picked up one and smoothed it out. On one side there were seven harsh lines with ancient drops of moisture scattered around. The other side was clean.

            I combed through the mess until I found a bitten pencil with a missing eraser. I numbered one through twelve on the page, and started my confessions.

Dear Mom,

1.      I hate the new kitchen.

2.      “Dad” number two raped me.

3.      I’ve never had an abusive boyfriend, just an ignorant mother.

4.      I tried to overdose on miscellaneous medicines I found around the house three times.

5.      My real father loves me more than he ever loved you.

6.      When you missed my play in fifth grade, it wasn’t really okay.

7.      I’m highly allergic to “dad” number four’s dogs.

8.      I’m failing science as a cry for help.

9.      I stopped talking because there’s no point if you aren’t going to listen.

10.   I used to love your artwork.

11.  If you said sorry, I would’ve forgiven you.

12.  It’s too late.

            Now, to make each and every word seen and heard. I grabbed any tubes of paint that I could find that still had something to live for left in them. I was still searching for a sufficient number of brushes when the girl started talking to me again.

            “You were amazing in that play, with your cute little pigtails and rosy cheeks. You were the only one who remembered every line. Your teacher cried with joy at the end. I don’t know if you had seen that, but she did.”

            My hands shook and I dropped the rusty remains of a brush that I had been holding. White noise started playing in my head. My head felt like a too expanded balloon, ready to explode any second. But I have to finish, I thought, just a little bit longer.

            I piled the supplies I gathered and my list on top of each other. I ran up the stairs, not stopping to think about falling or dying right there.

            I went to the living room, with the empty walls and clear space, it was perfect. I painted confessions two, three, and seven in that room in bright red. Then I looked down at the floor. It was so bright and happy, the light bamboo panels. In mere minutes, the words of number five sloppily shone like fresh blood.

            “Think about how all your friends will feel.”

            The word “friends” rang in my ears, over and over.

            I couldn’t concentrate anymore. It felt like bees were slowly eating away at my brain cells. Somehow, one, four, and six were blazing across the counters and cabinets of the kitchen in a yellow-green.

            I fell hard onto the tile and heard a crack as a can of paint opened and spilled around me. It tickled my toes as it flowed away. It smelled like inspiration. I felt my heart beat ebb away. Thump…thump thump…

            No, I need to finish. I will not die half a failure.

            I sprang uneasily to my feet and dipped the tip of a brush in the river of deserted and unloved purple. Eight, nine, and ten stuck to the fancy chairs and the silk curtains of the dining room.

            All the time, the girl sat on the floor and stared at me as if I was committing a crime. The girl with black hair that barely touched her shoulders, which I fiddled with while we watched the clouds, once upon a time. The girl whose stubby fingers I had intertwined with my own as we contemplated the “why” of life, once upon a time. The girl that had left years ago, but I liked to pretend that she was still here, because it made my silence that much less lonely.

            I will not cry.

            I have two left.

            Everything I was engulfed in leaping flames and the ground was slippery. I never had to imagine what dying felt like. This was it.

            In my mother’s room, there was not one piece of out place. The carpet was white as snow. The sheets were black and modern looking. It made me sick. I tipped the can of blue so that a fine stream of gooey paint slowly poured onto the floor.

            If you said sorry, I would’ve forgiven you.

            I gave my mother so many chances to fix it all.

            The walls screamed the words. I felt my body burning with rage and sorrow. I will not cry, not for her, not for anybody. My legs started working, pulling me away from all that I had done.

            One more.

            Then I was outside, looking at the rows of cream colored roof and siding. It was all so perfect. Black paint, to match the color of my insides.

            It’s too late.

Goodbye, Lia

                A sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sign, trickled out between my parted lips. I imagined the noise as a fine stream of light green mist, rising into the clouds.

                I could hear my heart pounding through my ears. My body felt overwhelmed, bursting at the seams, alive.

                The sun’s shine dried small drops of rain off my arms and chest. The grass beneath me was soaked.

                I used to think that I could outrun the rain. Not the drizzle-type rain, the deafening kind of rain. The weather where people crash their cars and houses topple over. People call me crazy for being in a wide open field when the skies are in the midst of a war. I find it the safest place in the world to be. Especially with Lia.

                I heard her muffled thud as she lied down beside me. I listened to her ragged breath as she attempted to slow her pulse.

                “You always beat me,” she said, the same green smoke trailing along her words.

                I smiled. “Only because you stop and look at every tree you pass.”

                “Why don’t you stop to look around? Have you ever noticed how beautiful the world is?” Her tone was light, the topic was not. She pulled her left leg up to her forehead, stretching her toned muscles.

                “I like to get here before you. After that I have plenty of time to observe my surroundings.” I reached over and curled a stray piece of her hair around my finger.

                Lia laughed. “Always so competitive,” she said.

                I turned my head and felt the rubbery grass crinkle around me. Her eyes, soft and golden, held mine. It was scary how she could do that, look and me and fill me with so much love. Sometimes I wished she would just away, I needed her to leave. I needed to step out of this frightening lust, and back into our comfortable friendship. I have to… but part of me wasn’t ready to let her go. This love felt so right, why should I have to give it up?

                Lia looked up at the sky. It had begun to rain again. Fat drops of water landed on my jeans. I watched them settle through the fibers.

                “I’m going home tomorrow,” Lia said her voice indifferent.

                “I know.” What else was there to say? I know you’ll always walk away. I know my home will never yours. I know I’m not good enough for you. But I can’t change her mind, I and I don’t want to either. I wished she would change her mind on her own. I suppose there could be a chance for her to come out, and tell me how much I mean to her. This happening was immensely unlikely.

                I stood up and brushed dirt off my palms.

                “Where are you going?” Now she begs. But it’s too late.

                “Lia, I cannot keep being your toy. This-” my voice cracked. She’s begging for this last moment, why am I backing away? This was what I wanted.

                She watched me as I wringed my hands and let out short sputters of breath. “Naomi, please, I’m sorry, you know…” Her words trailed off. She suddenly sounded very childish.

                I looked up and sighed toward the sky and I dug my heels into the soft soil. Rain splattered down around me. I was preparing for takeoff. I looked ahead to the line of trees. They were far away, but not far enough. Nothing would be far enough to get away. “What, Lia, what do I know?” I whispered to the floor, this beautiful, rich green floor. She heard me.

                “If you run again,” she gulped, “I won’t come after you this time.”

                Tears of fury shot up through my throat. “This time? Are you implying there was a time when you would try to find me? Have you ever put me first?” I could feel my muscles flexing, craving for me to run. I wanted to run so bad, worse than I ever had before.

                “No, no, I know you understand, come lay down, the clouds are so pretty.” She grabbed for my hand. Her eyebrows were knit together tightly. Her knees were bent, as if ready to pull me with all her strength. Lucky for me, she’s the weakest person I know.

                I shrank away from her touch like it was a burning flame. I don’t understand. I have no idea who this girl in front of me is; all I know is who she pretends to be.

                Lia plopped down on the ground, looking like a pitiful seven year old. And oh how I did pity her.

                “I just, I feel so lost, and I don’t know. I can’t be as confident as you. But that’s why I need you, because I know you can fix it and you…” She was talking to me, I think. She was whining. Dear god, shut up.

                I gazed off into the woods, thinking about all those kind whispers, and a pair of soft hands drifting over my face, never holding back. I thought of how different these two girls were. Then it struck me, after all the thinking and crying and thinking and expressing, I know what I want. Lia was still talking, now hiccupping in sobs.

                I reached down and pulled off my sneakers. I tied the laces together and hung it over my wrist. Lia screamed my name, she screamed for me to stop, to save her.

                It was pouring as I ran through the forming mud and flattened blades of grass. The sound of Lia’s cries was drowned out by the crack of thunder. My hair flowed behind me. Our field wasn’t so big. Before I knew it I had reached the edge of the woods. Of course, this didn’t stop me. I jumped over fallen branches and tapped on the trees that flew by. My legs had a mind of their own, my soul drifted above my body, watching as a gleeful smile reached my eyes.

                Go back to your boyfriends, Lia. I can’t keep waiting for you. I need someone who knows who they are, and she’s here. But it won’t ever be you.

Alien Skin

I have transformed from brick wall of smiles into mirror with cracked edges. When people look at me, they see what they want to see. They refuse to look a little deeper, to see the pain. If they saw it, then they have to deal with it. Let’s be real, no one wants to deal with each other’s pain. We’d rather stay in our fantasy worlds and pretend everything is just dandy.

I have become a mirror.

I blend into the background. I copy my surroundings. I can become invisible.

Eight out of eighteen. Overall grade: eighty-five. Four questions answered incorrectly. But we get a second chance, because it’s a pretend test. You get three tries. Outside three crows fly by, and one seagull lands on a roof. I listen to the buildings cry and try to look past the stains on the window. Students laugh around me, but I don’t hear them. I feel the air vibrate and the waves float past my hands. The laughter wraps around my fingertips and mocks me.

I raise my hand and count to seven. I put my hand back down. My vision goes blurry and my cheeks catch on fire. If I cry, my mascara will run down my face, stick into my pores, and never let go. I’ll feel the pain for weeks. I look up and turn my mind white. Count to thirty. Back down to my paper. Number four, incorrect. Grab the text book, turn to the glossary. Dry skin rubs against itself. It hurts. I have to stop. Left hand reaches for the back of my neck, where my spine juts out, and my hair covers the skin. Jagged nails dig, dig, dig, until they hit raw muscle. Wade through muscle until I hit bone. Around the bone, grasp the spinal cord, become paralyzed. The nerves stop communicating to the brain, I stop tasting the air. I stop hearing metal rust. I stop seeing atoms zip through empty space. I stop feeling every section of my skin stretching against itself.

Is that how normal people live? I don’t know if I envy you… or pity you. My world is so beautiful. It is full of florescent colors, conflicting with each other to create an explosion of light. Everywhere. What is yours like? Faded greens splashed over layers of gray?

My world is magnificent. The pain is bearable, as long as I get the glorious shine. It makes me feel alone. But that’s how I like it. My solitude never leaves me. If you had my brain for a day, you would go mad. Years and years and years have trained me to come to peace with my malfunction. I embrace it all. And in return, it will never leave me.

You have memories in images, pictures.

I have memories in fugacious smells. I can know exactly when and where they came from. It makes me sad to remember like that. You can’t draw a scent. You can’t name a scent. You can’t take a picture of a scent. All I can do is hope the memory will come back someday. But I hate to rely on hope.

My cell phone buzzed on the coffee table. I sighed and answered it.

“Hello?” I said in a dull tone.

“Leah? It’s your sister, Tiffany. Mom’s in the hospital.” She said.

I just sat there for a second. I stared off into space. Then I grabbed my keys as fast as lightening. I raced out of my dorm. My roommate stopped me by the entrance.

“Hey Leah, where are you going, you’re going to miss class!” She said.

“Don’t care.” I said back, pushing her out of the way.

She gave me a questioning look.

“My mom is in the hospital!” I screamed in her face. I ran out the door and raced to the emergency room.

That was four months ago. I had debated moving back to Seattle after college. Now, without my mother to hold me in Cleveland, I was free. I liked being stuck here rather than my mother being dead.

I noticed the garden across the street when I was walking to the grocery store one day. I remembered my mother’s Rose bush she had when I was a little girl. Then the doctor diagnosed her with ALS. The roses died. My sister went away to college. My mom went into a nursing home for a while. Then she came out and my sister and I moved to Cleveland to take care of her. A cold drop interrupted my thoughts. It rolled down my cheek. I wiped it away. That night I bought a packet of rosebush seeds.

When I came back to the garden I looked around for a shovel. I wanted to buy one the night before, but I didn’t have enough money. A woman leaned a small shovel against a wall and walked away. I quickly grabbed it. I searched for an open spot of land and dug as fast as I could into the ground. Someone tapped my shoulder. I pushed them away and kept digging. The person grabbed the shovel.

“Hey!” I yelled.

“This is my shovel you stole.” She said calmly.

“Oh.” I put my head down sadly.

“What are you planting?” She asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” I said walking away.

“You can borrow it,” she called after me.

I turned around and took it and went back to digging. We talked as I dug and planted. She wanted to know a lot about my mother, so I told her the whole story. Then she told me about her granny and the goldenrod she planted. It was getting late by then, so I told her I had to go. Before I left she told me I could keep the shovel.

When I came back to the garden a couple days later I saw a boy pulling weeds out from around the seeds I planted. It was very early in the morning and the sun was just rising. There was barely anybody at the garden. He looked up from the dirt. I noticed that his hands were rough and scratched like sandpaper. He saw me. So I walked over and said thank you.

“You should check on them every day, water them and weed ‘em,” He said.

I nodded. Then he walked off. But I didn’t notice where he went because I was focused of my roses. A small speck of green was coming out of the ground. It was withered and sad looking. I watered it thoroughly. I had planned on going back to school right away, but instead I sat down on the ground next to my mound of dirt. I took my textbook out of my backpack and studied. It started to get very hot so I went back to my dorm.

I came back that evening, when it had cooled off again. I watered my roses again. Right next to them was some goldenrod. I gently picked it up. I knew exactly what to do with it. I ran to the nearest bus stop and hoped on the bus. I was anxious the whole ride, but held onto the small flower with care.

When I got off the bus, I ran to the spot and dropped to my knees. I laid the goldenrod down gently right in front of mom’s headstone.

On my way back I called some friends and did some favors and earned enough money to buy a small shovel, and a pair of gloves.

Then I smiled, which was something I hadn’t done in a long time.

Gone.

Run. That's what you do when you're trying to get away, right? Okay, so I run.

I throw on a pair of shoes. I hope I'm doing this right. I'm not used to getting away. I'm used to staying trapped.

I feel my way around the hallway. It's dark and I can't risk turning the lights on. He might wake up.

I've been here for three months. I made it a priority to memorize every inch of the house. Stairs in two feet. Creaky board in five feet. I might make it.

The house looked like a shack. It was one of the smallest ones on the street. The outside was crumbling faded brick. The roof desperately needed to be redone. The window panes were barely hanging off their hinges.

I was to the door now. The hardest part. I left it unlocked and slightly open last night. This man must be really oblivious not to notice.

I slid through the thin opening. The only thing between me and freedom. Finally, I was going to make it.

The hinges creaked.

I stopped cold in my steps. Maybe I just imagined it. I was so paranoid lately. Then I heard the worst noise.

Rustling sheets. And the groan of an old bed frame.

I ran. This is what legs are for. Leaving. Going away. Disappearing. I don't ever remember running like this. But then again I don't remember anything past last week.

"Willow, come back!" I heard his voice. That dreadful voice. It was laced with worry for the neighbors to hear. But I heard the anger underneath. I wondered if anybody else could hear it. Or if that tone was special for me.

Run. Don't look back. He's old, he can't come after me. Run to the road. Get in a car. Don't look back.

I got to the main road and bent over, panting, to put my hands on my knees. I watched people out the window when they were running, and I saw them do this. So I thought I'd try it out. My pulse slowed and I regained my breath. I fell back on the rough, dead grass. This whole neighborhood was horrible. Garbage everywhere. Screaming. Hitting. Shooting. Small houses falling apart by the seams. But grass was nature. And nature was not that apartment. Anything was better than there.

I ripped up the grass and sprinkled it across my stomach. I saw little kids do this. Then adults would cone and yell at them. I wondered why it was bad to do. The grass was dead anyways, pulling it up was just making it dead in a different place.

A car pulled up beside me. A hideous noise sounded and I covered my ears and gritted my teeth.

"Ten bucks for that," the man inside said. He had a thick accent and stubble along his jaw line. His clothes were dirty and ripped.

"I don't have any money," I replied. I heard the man in the house talk on the phone and picked up words and phrases. I learned that "bucks" is another word for "money", which is a method of payment.

"Damn you're a stupid girl. That's okay, I'm sure you can make up for it. Now get in." His voice was harsh and rude. His last words were a demand, not questionable. It frightened me only slightly, but I needed a way to get out of this place.

I slid into the backseat of the car. The man gave me a strange look but didn't say anything. The car's interior was covered in dirt and smelled of old alcohol. I choked and gagged a little bit. I tried my best to hold any bodily fluids that threatened to escape down so I didn't offend him.

The man looked middle aged, much younger than the man in the house, but older than the boys I saw running frantically down the street at night. The boys that ran always cried. I watched them as they pulled out guns and waved them around. No one else saw when they returned to their houses, they sat and wept for hours. Humans are so fragile. I don’t particularly like them, I’ve decided.

Twenty minutes later the car started to slow down. I had been laying down across the moldy and faded leather seats in the back. When I felt the car slow down and turn I lifted my head up to see where I was. I peeked just my eyes out over the window, hiding from the world.

The house that I saw didn't look much different from the houses on the street with the man. It was dirty and run down, the driveway was long enough to hold the two cars that were parked there. There were patches of green grass, and a few bright yellow flowers that looked like suns bursting from the ground. This house felt so much more safe. Though still not safe in a general sense, because this man driving the car was a complete stranger.

The vehicle eventually slowed to a stop. The man turned around in the front seat to face me. I examined his face for the first time. He looked to be around twenty five, with darkly tanned skin that led me to believe that he spent a lot of time working outside. His eyes were dark and sunk far into his thin face. I felt smewhat bad for him, since he looked so tired and worn out. A flash of pity went through his eyes as he examined me as closey, if not closer, than I examined him.

"How old are you?" he asked in a curious tone, not treatening at all like he had been earlier when he told me to get in the car.

"I don't know," I responded. Which was the honest truth. I had no idea how old I am, or how I am, or anything about myself. But I recently learned that I enjoy flowers.

"How can you not know how old you are. Are you some kind of stupid-" His voice grew louder and louder until he was shouting at me. I felt my face contorting in a natural instint of fear. He must have noticed and caught himself before scaring me away.

"Sorry. You just seem like one of those weird girls wandering around. Can never be too careful, right?" Again, his fatherly tone was used.

This young man seemed to know a lot about this place, and since there was no one to tell me about myself, I might as well learn about my surroundings. "What weird girls?"

"Do you live under some kind of rock? The weird girls who stand out on people's lawns chanting things. No one can figure out what they're saying, probably some weird foreign language. But we can't get rid of them either. When they're not standing around being weird, they're just gone and no one can find where they went."

I had hoped any new information would spark some kind of memory in my mind, but nothing happened. But the news stuck to me and made me wonder further about these strange girls.

"Has anyone been able to talk to them?" I tried to look menacing so he would tell me, but he just returned my stare with a quizzical look.

"Why would anyone try that? This neighborhood is full of cowards. Anyone who isn't a coward brought out their shotguns."

"Shotguns? Isn't that a little harsh?"

He snarled, I guess it was meant to be a laugh, but his face was so contorted it only made him look more hideous. "That’s how this town works.”

I didn’t understand, but dropped the topic. "Can you bring me somewhere else? This house is ugly, and I don’t like it.”

The man frowned. “You haven’t paid me for the ride yet.”

“I already told you I don’t have any money. I don’t know what else you want from me.”

“You really are that stupid.”

Then the man in the front seat lunged at me. His movements were sharp, but predictable. His hands lashed towards me at the same moment I grabbed for the car door handle. I didn’t know exactly how to react to the situation, on account that I had no clue what he planned on doing to me. But I could guess it wasn’t very nice.

I rolled out of the car and hit the gravel hard. My shoulder and thighs burned where they scraped against the ground.

English Project: Mystery Story

Dawn Rosenberg

I quickly walked out the condo before I could hear any more vicious sounds of delicate items smashing against scratched wood floors. It hurt to see my father like this, but from lessons at school called “life skills” I knew it was best to “remove yourself from the situation”.
The stairs leading down the small living place were ragged and broken. Lots of things had been smashed against those too. They would never be fixed, so we were forced to look at the memories every day.
There weren’t many places to go in Spanaway, Washington. But I had been running through the town enough times to memorize where everything was. My favorite place to go was the playground, which might seem weird for a girl in high school, but that’s just the way my brain works.
I started my jog at a light and slow speed. No need to rush, since I had a feeling I would have to be out for a long time before my father could calm down. The sun was just starting to set, and it spewed brilliant colors against the dusty blue sky. I wanted to stop and gaze at it, but it was dangerous to stand on the side of the road. Sunsets were always the most beautiful in Washington. Not that I had ever been out of the state, but anything more stunning than this would be overkill.
The further I got from my house, the cleaner and fresher the air smelled. In fact, all of my senses heightened with every heavy step I took forward. The warm summer wind against my face stung, but it was a humble reminder of every inch of my skin.
The tops of the three sets of swings loomed ahead over the hill. Most of the metal poles were rusted completely, but they still served their purpose, which was to bring simple joy to children or teens, in my case.
I didn’t stop my jog. Instead I sprinted into the nearest swing. I jumped over the splintering wood and plopped into a sitting position. I took a minute to observe my surroundings and catch my breath.
There was one toddler playing in a sandbox and gurgling to the tune of a song I’d never heard before. A babysitter, possibly, lied on a bench near the child. She stared up at the sky with a look of longing. I too turned my head upward. Now, the clouds looked like ghosts of sharp orange and magnificent magenta. The sun had barely touched the horizon. It was a beautiful, if eerie, sight. I had maybe three quarters of an hour before night settled.
Pumping my legs, I climbed higher through the thick air. Once I was at a height where I could see across the whole park, I reached down and untied my shoelaces. Then I sat back up so I wouldn’t lose any momentum. Closing my eyes, I kicked off my ripped up sneakers. I listened for the thud of them hitting the ground. After forty seconds I opened my eyes just in time to see one navy shoe with threads billowing off its edges hit the dirt. Strange, I thought to myself. I didn’t think I kicked it that high. But my mind was elsewhere today, maybe I counted the seconds wrong.
I continued my blissful swinging, bathing in thoughts of happier times. Then I started thinking about that pair of shoes. Suddenly an odd thought occurred to me. I had only seen one shoe land. I never saw or heard the right one touch the ground. Perhaps I was just losing my mind tonight. But just in case, I slowly opened my eyes, all the time I still swung back and forth on that rusty old swing.
Searching the ground for any object that might resemble a shoe, worry crept into me. The sun was now going down at an alarming rate and now I was barefoot. Even worse, the one shoe that I had seen minutes before had disappeared.
I stopped pumping my legs back and forth and leaned against the movement of the swing. I looked around to see the toddler in the sandbox now having a tantrum. The girl who had been lying on the bench leaned down to pick the little boy up and carried him out of the playground.
The child could’ve taken my shoes, but that was unlikely since it would’ve had to have moved very fast in and out of the sandbox.
Before the swing had come to a complete stop, I had jumped off and was running around the area of where my shoes could possibly have landed. Then a bright color caught my eye. Tucked carefully under the corner of a large stone, was a leaf. In mid-summer, I was not expecting to see a neon red leaf lying around. As I looked close in the dim light, I saw there was a word imprinted in the direct center of the leaf.
Keep.
Keep? What could that mean? Did it even mean something? I looked around again, for anything that would be another clue to this curious word. Then I saw it.
A red treasure chest, made of plastic of course, and the corners were bitten, probably by a dog. I smiled. “Keep” was referring to something you would keep something in. What would be in this little chest, I had no idea. But I doubted it was a treasure, unless of course it was my lost shoe, which would be a precious treasure to me. This seemed like some form of mind game, and though it was frightening, part of me couldn’t help but feeling entertained.
I ran over and opened the chest to find another leaf. This one was electric blue with another single word on it.
Fall.
I sighed inwardly. I don’t think my shoes are worth this effort. If I want to get back before the streets become dangerous, I had better start back now. I felt a prick on my ankle and yelped. Probably just a bug, I thought. I glanced down and saw it was a spider. I’ve been to this spot in town a hundred times. I’ve explored every inch of the soil a thousand times. Never has there been a single spider in the area. I swatted the creature away and looked up for something one could fall from.
The monkey bars would be an obvious choice. But there was nowhere to hide a bright colored leaf there. There was also the rope structure that I used to climb up when I was younger. But I was the only kid who would fall from those. Unfortunately, there wasn’t any other option.
Of course, there was a leaf wrapped around the intricate pattern of ropes. I had a nagging feeling that whoever was playing this joke knew me personally. Something as simple as a rope wall was easy to climb, and anyone else wouldn’t be expected to fall.
This leaf was neon green. It reminded me of the color of the woods in the morning. The word on it this time didn’t give me any help at all.
Forest.
This is just great. The sun had dropped fully under the sky and it was now night. Surrounding the little playground was miles of forest. Whoever put these out must be crazy to think I would just wander into the woods at night with no shoes.
But then again, I had nothing worth going home to.
I started towards the edge of the wood closest to the swing set. At this point I was just wandering based on memory, because I could barely see my own hand in front of me. And because today seemed to be my lucky day, I tripped on a loose rock.
After mumbling some swears to myself, I reached back to find what exactly I had stumbled on, I felt stiff fabric, then rubber, then laces. It was my right shoe. I laughed to myself at how silly the whole situation was. Then I slipped my shoe on and walked further into the woods.
It had been seven minutes, according to my watch, that I had been walking aimlessly through unfamiliar forest when I heard a rustling in the leaves above me. I looked up and saw a figure jump down and land about four feet away from me. As my eyes adjusted to the new movement, I saw the figure was a person. It looked like a boy around sixteen years of age. He stuck out his arm and for a second I thought he was going to strike me, but then I saw a flash and heard a thud. I looked down to see the faint outline of my left shoe. Thankful for the ease off my bare feet, I quickly grabbed the shoe and slipped it on. I didn’t bother to fix the tongue or pull the laces out from the inside. The boy was still standing there. He walked a few steps in the opposite direction I had been coming. He turned around and may have given me a meaningful look, but I couldn’t see since it was pitch black out now. He waved his hand to me until I took a reluctant step towards him.
I am definitely going crazy. Why would I follow this boy? Even if I was lost in the woods, I would’ve found my way out eventually. But who knows where he could be taking me.
Eighteen minutes later our sprint had slowed, and the forest stopped. He stopped and looked straight ahead into the distance. As I leaned over to catch my breath, I realized where we were. This was the back of my house. I spun around taking in the view from this spot. I had never even realized there were trees in our backyard. I was too obsessed with leaving to see what was around me.
I became acutely aware of the boy next to me. Now his features were dimly lit by the street lights in the distance. His features were sharp and it made him look rather serious and unhappy.
He took one backward step, then turned around and swerved between the trees until he was out of sight. That was really strange, I thought. I’ve never seen that boy before, and I knew almost everyone who lived here. Maybe he didn’t go to the local high school. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again… How did he know where I live? Why did he steal my shoes?
Muffled sobs from inside the house distracted me from my thoughts. I remembered my father and how I had left him. One thing to deal with at a time.
Walking up the back porch steps, I turned back for one last look. I could’ve sworn I saw a person hanging from a tree, but my mind was playing a lot of tricks on me tonight.
I made a silent resolution to take my runs in through these woods instead of on the street.

These nightmares are getting really bad.

I walked along the road back to the camp base. It wasn't that much further away. I bet I could get there in no time. A few minutes later the sun had fallen past the horizon. Darkness closed around me. At first I figured there was nothing to worry about. I was on a main road and nobody around here would do any evil. But then I remembered. But then it was too late. Vines wrapped harshly around my ankles. They pulled and tugged at my every limb. I tried so hard to break free, but thorns dug into my calves. I screamed out. In the dead of night, no one could hear me. Before I even hit the ground, I had lost consciousness. I dreamed of seeds yelling at me. Screaming out my flaws and wrongdoings. I woke to normality. The road was just as it was before. Not a vine in sight.

"We won't make it in time. The sun is already going down." I was frantically worried. No one had any idea what happened when I was captured by the vines at night.

"I promise it'll me fine, there's still some time left." Sarah skipped along the snow dusted on the edge of my driveway. The tree at the bottom was massive and out of proportion, as everything was in dreams.

The sun stopped falling. I didn't question it, just raced to the end of the road leaving Sarah muttering about a text message from Margot. The hole in the ground was very large. I slipped into it, somehow knowing it would lead to the base camp.

I was in an airplane. A girl sitting beside me, and people surrounding us. They announced I would be paired with my longtime friend, who I can't recall the name of. He looked over me and smiled. The smile gave me the same frightful feeling I had gotten when I felt my legs surrounded by thick plants. Fearful dread.

I woke up with tears swept along my face and my legs quivering. My mouth was full of sores from biting my lips in my sleep. The nightmares.

Nightmare.

It was so loud. Booming music reverberated throughout the massive room. Not that I had been drinking alcohol, but my head was spinning in the most amazing way regardless. I had no clue what was playing, because it was so loud. But it had an energetic feel with lots of background techno-like sound. There were so many people, all crammed together. Shoving against each other, people didn’t even know who they were dancing with. But with a smile so glorious and care free on their face, they didn’t care either.

The whole world seemed to lock into place in that gymnasium. Everybody was in synch, and nobody cared what race you were, or how tall you were, or how much makeup you wore. Every single person just was, and every single other person enjoyed you just being. It made you feel like you belonged. Like maybe it was somehow possible that someone out there in the world wanted you to be there at that exact moment so they could dance with you and a hundred other people.

A person walked by and grabbed me around the waist. Colors flashed and there was a flood of movement around me as people repositioned for the next song. Strobe lights glazed the walls and ceiling. The air was thick and heavy with the summer air. The arms around my waist loosened and the rhythm of the crowd quickened. The floor pounded from the jumps of countless people.

A breath in my ear, and I twirled to face it. Oh God, there was perfect face, the perfect person to share this moment with. My senses blurred into a grin. The lips facing mine mirrored my action. It was all I could do not to gape at this magnificent boy. This boy of my dreams, with coffee colored hair that smelled of the woods and reminded me of crashing waves. Hazel eyes with specks of white, yes there was an endless white in the color of his eyes. He had a soft jaw line that gave his face a lighter look, less serious. And finally, thin, but lush lips, which were moving. Why is he talking? Shut up boy, I just want to dance away what little time we have. But now that he was talking, of course I heard every word that came out of those delicate lips.

“I miss you. Come back to me.”

“Stop it! What is it with you and talking at the worst times possible?”

“You need to understand how much I-“

“Don’t care? Okay I get it. Can you please just leave me to savor this splendid moment? Thanks.”

“Willow, that’s not what I was going to sa-” His brow furrowed, but I didn’t want to hear it. Any of it.

The music turned up louder to drown out his words. Now it was impossibly loud, so loud I couldn’t hear a thing. I watched his chest rise and fall in an exasperated sigh. Giving in is easier, he would learn that eventually.

I took that moment to look around. The once exotic and beautiful party members had now turned to cardboard that moved stiffly. The bodies had no shapes, no faces, just a slab of cardboard with rough and pointy edges that wobbled around.

“LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO MY BEAUTIFUL PLACE. YOU’VE SPOILED IT. YOU’VE RUINED IT ALL.” The music changed to a dull, monotone beat. It sounded the tick of a clock, but deeper and more eerie. I pushed the boy away, but he didn’t stumble, didn’t even move.

“You are the one who has tainted the worlds. You can’t control anything. This is one thing you have to give up. No longer are you in my mind, Willow, never again will you be. What was the past stays in the past. We will never be. Stop trying.”

“My glorious dream… you turned it into a nightmare. You monster.” The girl’s voice shook. But I couldn’t connect with her body to make her strong again. I couldn’t bring reason to her, as her mind blocked it all out.

The boy sneered, and walked out. He just kept walking off into the Edge. The girl cried out and I reached for her, but it wasn’t enough. The cardboard beasts turned on her and beat her. One in particular grabbed her hair and pulled her head back. It had a face, and eyes of the color of a midnight storm, with evil laced through them.

“You should’ve known you would be no better without me. You’re stupid, and I pity you for that. But I won’t help you, because I don’t need you anymore. In fact, I never did. I used you, Willow. We all did.”

The girl bled from her wounds but made no sounds. She sat in silence and took blow upon blow. And I sat, far away, feeling every touch she received.

I woke up to the drone of my alarm clock. My face streaked with crusty tears. These nightmares won’t cease, and it kills me to remember in the morning.

I rushed to the bathroom before my mother could point out anything strange. I turned on the bath so no one would hear my cries. I washed away the evidence, and I sobbed, and I pretended to forget. Because that was the new routine these days.

2.44

One foot in front of the other, in a straight line, hips swaying dramatically. One foot in front of another. Following the invisible line that was somewhere deep in a memory, that line that always leads me forward. That's how I knew forward from backward. Walking backward felt like running through sand. You are blind, you are deaf, and you are stuck. By backwards, I don't mean the literal walking backwards like the children do in races to see who has swifter and more accurate feet. The kind of backwards I experience is through memories, and dreams of course.

You can get lost in a memory. It's not that hard, all you have to do is forget how you got there. You can't get away from something when you don't know how (or even if) you got there in the first place. And then before you know it, you're crying and screaming and you have no idea where or what you are. You are lost, in a memory.

There is pain, and you can feel it. You'd be surprised how strong a memory is. Every sense heightened. There is happiness, and it takes over you. Light pours out of you, like a sun. You are a sun. That's how happiness is.

I sit. Because that's what people do when they see a chair, or a stool, or a couch. No one stares at it like an idiot, wondering how many people in a factory touched it before the whole world went around sitting on it. Nope, normal kids don't do that. First thing you should know about me, I'm not normal.

Bend legs... yes I remember how to sit. I think. Voices buzz around me, god I hate that buzz. Music flips to full blast; I don’t even realize my fingers move sometimes. They take over me and they know what’s best for me. Thanks little dainty fingers, I appreciate it.

My name, Willow, is shouted from someone. People, can’t you see I’m trying to take root into the ground and become invisible? What are you doing calling out my name? Stupid children, we’re all so stupid. Great, now everyone is staring at me. Music turns down, fading away, no, sweet clarity and predictability, don’t leave me.

I greet them, those stupid children. I just want that buzz to go away. I hate how all their voices buzz like that. Maybe you can’t hear it, but I always do. It’s always eating away at me. How can these people walk around like it’s nothing, when their voices are causing such chaos?

“Shh…” I murmured to myself. I like to pretend I have power over all of them. That I could just stand up and whisper, “Shh” and they would never speak a word again. But, alas, I don’t.

The worst part of all of this is that my voice too buzzes.

“Hey Willow, how was your weekend?” If I had a buzz-ometer, it would’ve exploded by now.

“Fine,” The buzz settled around my shoulders, and into my ears. What a pain, this voice was.

“Why just fine and not good? You should have more good weekends, Willow.” Who the hell was this kid anyways? I lifted my head up for a better look.

It’s a boy. Great, these were the worst to get rid of. I assessed him carefully. Jet black hair, soft and thin looking, that framed his face nicely. He had big, wide eyes, surrounded by a line of eyelashes, blue eye color with flakes of golden. Interesting eyes I will admit… His body was lean and skinny, not in a muscular way though. Sickly pale skin wrapped around his stubby fingers.

“You checking me out?” He sneered at me. His voice was rich and thick, like a blanket. There was a slight hint of buzz, but not nearly as bad as the rest of them.

“No,” I keep it plain and simple. The less words the better.

Sickly Sweet Dreams (2)

I'm so stupid. How can I be SUCH a coward? It's not that hard to just say "Happy Holidays, Trevor." But of course, all I can manage is an over-exaggerated "HELLO" and lots of blushing. I'm probably better off liking him from a distance anyways. Getting too close to boys always ends in me cutting. Oh don't even start with the lecture, I give it to myself enough.

Erin giggles next to me. I look over, and she's staring at the front of the classroom. Right, there's a movie playing. It's a cute movie I guess. But I'm more interested in the person in my direct line of vision. Wow I've got it bad.

I lay my head down on the desk I'm sitting at. Might as well get comfortable. I take a bunch of deep breathes until I get dizzy. The world sways and twists. It's so peaceful. So beautiful... so dark.....

I sit upright with a jolt. The movie has stopped. Why?

"I'm so sorry guys, there's some technical difficulties, hehe. We're working on it, just chat amongst yourselves for now, haha." Ms. Carlton is always so smiley, and beautiful. I'm surprised she's not married.

Outside the sky was bright and pierced through the blinds. Damn it was sunny out. When did that happen? The room was filled with talking and laughter. But when I tried to pick out words, they didn't make any sense. It just sounded like a mess of people saying "bla bla bla bla" in different tones.

Trevor stood up and stretched. Oh God, I need to stop staring at him before he notices. Crap. Too late. A dazzling smile spread across his face. So beautiful. Shit. Now he's walking over. I could feel my face on fire, blushing is a weakness of mine.

Arms wrapped around my waist. Trevor was behind me. Was he? But he was just walking toward me... wasn't he? His scent filled my senses. The one big thing I noticed about guys was how they smell. Not like body odor smell. But just their natural smell. It's something I get used to and start to miss when they're gone. Because of course, they always leave.

Holy crap Trevor smells amazing. Don't forget how to breathe. That's when I noticed I'm not breathing. But I wasn't holding my breathe either. That's strange...

His voice in my ear. Gorgeous, he said. He's so close, almost impossibly close. Then he was in front of me. But no one moved... how did that happen?

Lips on mine. Eyes closed. It felt so real. I tried to keep my eyes closed because I didn't want to see what would happen next. But the body doesn't always obey the mind. Stupid body.

Eyes wide open. Different boy in front of me. Sly smile, filled with anger and satisfactory. You can only hide for so long, Willow. Those were the words his hideous lips formed. The same words he spoke every time.

A forceful shove brought me back. Reminder to self: thank whoever it was that is waking me up.

"WILLOW. WAKE UP. UGH. YOU MISSED THE WHOLE MOVIE." Silly Erin, I wasn't watching the movie in the first place.

I blinked away spots from the heavy sleep. Everyone is staring at me. What are they looking at? Am I that ugly?

Samantha walked past me and grabbed my arm, pulling me outside the classroom. Come on people, close your mouths. Teens sleep in class all the time.

"Willow... what were you dreaming about?" Sam's tone was more like a warning than a question.

"Who said I was dreaming?" Playing stupid is always the safer way out.

"You were screaming."

Oops. "Oh... did I interrupt the movie?"
"That's not the point. Must've been an awful nightmare to make you scream like that. You wanna talk?"

Nope. Never. Then people know. "Um, actually maybe later. I should probably go back in before people think I'm a total freak."

I jogged back into class before there was time for anymore questions.

The only question I had was, when did the dream start, and how much was real?

Sickly Sweet Dreams (1)

It was three in the morning, and raining. Thunder and lightning kind of rain. I loved this weather. Even in the dark. I rolled out of bed, but after already starting my roll, I realized this bed was higher, and I probably shouldn't roll off like this. But it was too late. Not like I cared anyway. I landed on the floor with a solid *thump*. I hope that wasn't enough to wake anyone up...

I grabbed my rain-boots, which I have placed just under my bed for this moment. Carefully tip-toeing down the hall, I checked my mom's room. Just to make sure everyone was sleeping soundly. Indeed they were. I continued my journey down the stairs to the front door. I had left it unlocked so I wouldn't have to make so much noise, even the slightest sound could shake the dogs from their light sleep. I gently pulled on the cold doorknob. There was a little resistance, as if warning me to not go. But I had to. I walked outside, and the cold and rhythmic beating of rain welcomed me. I breathed in deeply the smell of damp forest. It reminded me of home. I'm not sure where home is, but I’m sure it would smell identical to this.

I stepped out onto the cool and damp porch. Thunder cracked overhead. I closed the door behind me and walked into the secret night. I found myself with a silly smile on my face. I didn't know where I was going to go. Or when I planned on coming back home. But I could never be this happy in that house. My bags were packed. My writings held close. All I wanted was to start over, in a new home. With new friends. No more medicine, no more vitamins. No more worries. The thought of that line made my head start playing.

I convinced myself that this was just the beginning of something bigger and better than what I had before. But doubt was slipping in. Then I wondered... what if I never got to say goodbye to the one person that meant the world to me? What if they thought I had died and would just give up looking for me? What if no one cared enough to look...?

Tears melted into the rain. I turned into a sobbing shivering mess. I thought of how no one would ever care enough to see me. Even if I was right in front of them. All they do is look, never seeing. Why can't they see the pain that I hold too close to me?
Sleep pressured me to fall to the ground, now soaked with fresh rain. It seeped through my clothes, through my skin, deep inside my bones. I slowly lifted my head to see the faint outline of a figure in the woods. I took off at a sprint towards it. By the time I realized it was a figment of my imagination, I was lost. Somewhere in the woods, alone. So alone. But I knew all I had to do was walk in one direction to find civilization. I chose not to move though. I chose to lie in the rain, soaking wet, shaking with fear. It was my own decision to do this. Before another thought could enter my mind, sleep hit me like a sledge hammer.
I woke to hands holding my head. Gently tugging on my hair. Warm hands. Safe... For a while I let my head rest in their lap. Not bothering to look to see who it was. Honestly, I didn't care. I felt safe, and loved. Loved that whoever this person was didn't walk by and leave me here to rot. Then there was a soft voice. A familiar voice... whispering something about the color of the leaves this season...
I knew that voice. I sat up with a jolt. He pulled me back into his arms. Of all the people in this world to find a dying girl in the woods, why couldn't it be a stranger?

I screamed and cried. Not this boy. Please, no. Words danced just out of reach, words with a voice. He was talking to me, but I'd rather block it out. This is my world, in my head, so why can't I change this?

Then my name.

"Willow."

"Willow."

"Wake up."

Too many voices. Rough sheets. Humming lights. Sterile scent. Papers flipping. Beeping. Consciousness... was pulling me back...

"Stop fighting it, Willow. It's time to wake up."